Second Rising
by Hagatha Cromwell
Summary: This is a story that continues after the 19 years from the Second Wizarding War. The golden trio live their lives and deal with their issues, while the next generation is all set to start a new story. Was the Second War the last war? Maybe. Maybe not.
1. Failures

Every fleeting moment was getting the better of her. Hermione ran an agitated hand, smoothing her cheviot skirt down over her knees. Turning to her right, she bit the inside of her lower lip, hard and vexed.

She and Ron had shared a couch incalculable many times. Sometimes over Butterbeer, sometimes Wizard's Chess training and sometimes kisses that would never begin to end. This was another of those times, only outside the snug, humble Burrow's acclimatized walls.

"Lewis Morgan. She was all _smiles_ around him! All evening she kept talking to him and downright _abandoned_ me at the party." Ron complained, sitting up to a defensive posture, or rather attacking. Crossing his arms over his chest, he charged at her. "Are you ashamed of me, Hermione?" After oscillating glances at his wife and their marriage councillor in turns, he sank back into the couch.

No, this was nothing like any of those couch days, which now seem to have been ephemeral. The man she had shared the recent past twenty-three years of her life and two wonderful children with, now insinuated the traits of a celestial body sitting a couple of feet away. She thought he glistened but it was only a delusion, for grime that clogged the space between them.

She let out a sigh of defeat, which went unheard.

 _He is a colleague, Ron, I had to say hello. And you were drunk so bad, that I had to get away for a while. You were going out of your way to embarrass me._

She wanted to shout it all out, she wanted to cry. Had they been talking about it a couple of months earlier, she would slap him until every muscle of her body gave up. She would prove her point. But they were past that. She made no effort, to make an effort. She could feel absolutely no stamina in her system to put up any more fights.

"Mrs. Weasley, you have gotten quieter today. Do you have nothing tell us?" The blue eyed French middle-aged woman commiseratively smiled at her.

After a week of her mother and Molly's joint persuasion sessions she had finally given up and asserted to the idea of marriage counselling sessions. And after five months of trifling exertion, they were standing right where had started, square one, just as she had predicted would happen by the end.

She tried her best at returning a smile at the woman who had clearly seen moments like this a million times before. Hermione thought the councilor would see it as a mere phase, but only she knew how her participation at making things better was fading. Briefly shaking her head in a 'no', she stood up. She looked at Ron over her shoulder and walked right out.

Ron stepped down the stairs to see her sitting in the car rolling her hair up in a neat bun, one that she only worn to work. After ten minutes of driving in dead silence, which was the new normal, they got to the Granger house in the Hampstead Garden Suburb. Ron drove into the garage. The senescent engine's blaring faded out. Tetchily, she reached for the door, and left. It was only when he heard her broad heels clomp away into the house that he realized he was stranded, to deal with his complexes. Complexes, which made him, turn rancid from inside. He trudged after her.

Hermione had chosen a time when her parents would not be home, so she won't have to wear that forged merry curve on her face.

She drew out her wand from her branded leather handbag, the one that Luna had brought Hermione from her last trip to America. Unlocking the door, she entered the house and held the door ajar for Ron to come in. he dragged his feet up the stairs to the door. Locking the door behind him, he following Hermione across the living room to the study, a photo frame caught Ron's attention. It wasn't just an ordinary Muggle photograph; it stood out from all the other photographs resting in the showcase, for it was from their wedding. Hermione nestled in his embrace like she wouldn't anymore.

The study encompassed the fireplace, connected to the Floo Network, which soon took them both, first Hermione then Ron, back to the Burrow.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Son of a legend, eh? Are you Albus? So what if you couldn't grab the snitch while that Hufflepuff weakling could? So what if you did not pay enough attention and your boggart ended up looking like your own ugly self and not some vicious creature? So what if you haven't encountered one dementor yet or haven't killed one dark creature so far? So what Albus? You sure can live off your father and grandfather's fame and tales! You sure can be a parasite on the wizarding world. The days of a Potter being The Chosen One are over. If you can't, how will your lousy siblings ever be of any significance in the history? Yes Albus, you were born to merely complete the happily-ever-after of The Chosen One. Not to have your own legacy._

Albus tightened his grip on the edges of the newly installed, full-length mirror in the Fifth Year boys' dorm room. Almost seconds away from punching his own reflection. He screamed until the sound of his self-loathing deafened him. Pulling an arm back past his chest, his fingers clenched in a fist. Crying out in surrender to defeat, submission to the mainstream ways, his fist met the mirror, like an epicenter of destruction. Multiple amorphous pieces landed around his feet erratically. He looked down at them, at his multiple disintegrated reflections.

 _A face that no one would make a portrait of in your honor, a face which no publisher would print, for your only achievement was to have taken birth in the family of Ginevra and Harry Potter._

Albus snapped out of his train of thoughts at the approaching, corpulent footsteps. Emerging from a rather dim lit corner by the entrance, the stubby, rotund silhouette was of Russel Longbottom.

Fishing inside his robe, Russell pulled out his ten inches long, ebony wand from his trousers' right pocket. Albus, still immobile, glared at him, uncertain of his scheme. Suspecting an incoming, he moved a few steps further in the direction opposite to Russell. Raising his wand up higher, he pointed it in Albus' direction.

"You know I would never kill you, right?" Russell shot up a mocking eyebrow.

Albus jerked his head around at a vitreous clamour, to realize, the broken pieces of mirror rose up and resurfaced on the empty wooden frame behind him, under Russell's non-verbal Mending Charm. He took a few slow-paced, cowed steps closer to Albus. "You would not want the prefect to find out about your little outburst episode, Albus, so… Tell me what's wrong," his eyebrows tensed with honest concern, "I've stood by you for years now, I have the right to demand, I think."

Bending over the closest edge of his bed, Albus reached out to his wand. Holding it up to point at Russell, he incanted a jinx out loud, " _Flipendo_!" Russell went flying over several feet at being hit by a blue light emitted from Albus', thirteen inches long Walnut wooded dragon heartstring core, wand; his back hit the wall behind him. He slumped against the wall, hyperventilating from the Knockback Jinx. He sat with his fingers wrapped around his hurt ankle when he saw Albus approaching. Panic-stricken, he started delving around him on the floor. He found his wand behind him, a foot away. He swerved with it, in his grip, to face Albus. "Colloshoo!" He cried out. In effect, Albus fell on his face at his next step as some kind of sticky, green glue held his shoes on the floor. Russell recalled this spell from an incident his father once mentioned to him. His father had witnessed their Potions Professor under the effect of the same spell. Outraged, Albus put Russell under the Babbling Curse. Freeing himself, Albus walked over to Russell. "How many more times, Russell, do I have to _beg_ you to keep your _nosey_ self out of my business?" He snarled at Russell, "I'm sick of your babbling! It's time other people deal with it" his tone significantly rose.

Reaching into his robes, he tucked his wand in his waistband. Wearing a smirk on his face, he walked past hi most loyal well-wisher. Russell watched him walk out through the door and slam it shut behind him.

About ten minutes had passed from the time Albus left. And ten minutes of unconditional despondency for him had passed, when the door to their dorm room flew open, once again. The magnitude of coercion inflicted on the door made it obvious; the person behind it had to be a Potter.

Only this time, it was James Sirius, to his rescue.


	2. A Night Well Spent

It was the sixth of February, Arthur Weasley's birthday. Molly bridled the celebration to the company of family, exclusively.

Hermione genuinely smiled at the sight of Ginny and Harry, who were sitting by the eight-seater wooden table in the compact kitchen. With steaming mugs of coffee and an unfinished game of Scrabbles laid open in front of them on the table, they both looked up at the fireplace, where Hermione had just showed up. She traipsed over to the end of the table farthest from the fireplace, where the couple was seated, shoving out of her way about four heavy wooden chairs in the process. She wrapped an arm around Ginny's shoulders and lowered her eyes at Harry.

"You know, it's one of those occasions that make you want to send those mumbling gnomes _flying._ "

They were virtually guffawing when a precipitous arrival of Ron grasped the trio's attention.

"The Burrow's never been more…noiseless." Ron marked, briefly scanning around.

"The crowd is outside, setting up the garden. We were just heading that way." Harry gestured towards the door, opened outward to the garden behind the house.

Squeezing himself past the multiple chairs that obstructed his way, he tapped Ron's back as he headed out of the door. Harry stopped, with his back resting against the frame of the door; he turned back to see Ron, standing still, watching Hermione, as she involved herself in a conversation with his wife inaudible to him. He had picked up on the building up distance between his two best friends. He would be gulling himself, if he said, he had no clue why. But he wished that were the case, because there was no way he was abetting Ron, neither did he want to impel an argument trying to talk Ron out of his misconceptions, for this time, he was impossibly fixated.

"We should really go now. Party's going to start without us, otherwise."

"Yeah Harry, be there in a minute." Ron paced out following Harry, leaving the ladies to themselves.

"Just give me a moment here, Ginny." Hermione hastily walked to the tiny circular table at the centre of the living room. She had to significantly bend down to place her purse on it. Feeling the chill, she pulled in the break-point edges of her black coat and buttoned them together. Balancing herself on a knee, dug into the cushiony brown sofa, she leaned over to get to the window. A last wave of freezing wind stung her face as she shut the window with considerable force.

"Gets really windy here in St. Ottery" Hermione quibbled, pulling the weary red curtains over the couple of panes.

"It sure does. Have you heard from Luna lately?" Ginny asked from the kitchen, piling a tray with chocolate cookies.

"I haven't, is she here?" Going back to the kitchen, she freed her hair from the tight bun, letting her curls cascade down her back.

"No, I don't think she's coming back any time soon. One of my colleagues confirmed that she's in Africa, though" Ginny roughly pulled out another tray from the packed shelf.

"Africa? Are there _still_ African eccentric species left for her to discover?" Hermione playfully jested.

Ginny chuckled. "Well, she's going to be talking about this side of the globe a bit in some kind of a seminar. And besides that, she will be meeting the Headmistress of Uagadau School of Magic with a proposal of a cultural exchange programme."

"That's big… here, let me take that." Assisting Ginny, she carried a tray full of cookies out of the kitchen and Ginny followed her with another.

Around the wide circular ebony table were fifteen chairs. From her angle of view, Ginny could see Arthur, in a brown plaid shirt and a black coat, seated at the centre with Molly to his left and Bill, his right. Fleur, settled next to Bill, locked her arm around his elbow and leaned over the table as she talked to Arthur. Shifting her gaze beyond Fleur, Ginny could see a stretch of four empty chairs, which were for her, Hermione, Ron and Harry of course. At the other end of the empty chairs was Charles, the bachelor in the family, who was holding his glass of white wine and was apparently looking at something hilarious at some distance. Ginny tried to follow the trail of his gaze, but could see nothing, to her disappointment, as he was looking towards the dingy perimeter of the garden. Charles laughed away to his heart's delight, while Audrey, sitting next to him, lifted her flawless pearl away from her chest with here index for Angelina to see. With a glass of wine placed on the table in front of her, Angelina went on talking and subtly emoting, in the admiration her necklace, probably. Percy and George, sitting beside her, were trying too hard to stifle a laugh to a joke no one in the family could know. To George's right was Teddy Lupin, a soon to be lifelong member of the extended Weasley-Potter family. He could not stop admiring the glamourous, part Veela, Victorie, dressed in a lavender dress, sitting beside him. Victorie would steal glances at her beau and blush, between her conversations with her grandmother.

"Right, it's a small get together." Hermione nodded, looking ahead at the table.

"Well, just family." Ginny joined in.

Moving closer to the gathering, Ginny got a better view at the edges of the garden. Harry and Ron, bent half way down, were looking around for gnomes and would chase to grab it once they spotted one. Harry rose up and swung his arm over the hedges with full force, sending an adult gnome out of the perimeter of the house.

Ginny pulled herself the chair next to Charles and burst out laughing; joining him in the sheer joy of watching the two men run around the garden and tackle the gnomes like chickens.

After the Weasley-Granger and Weasley-Potter wedding, the whole of Weasley clan and the Grangers agreed to meet up and vote over finalizing their residential settlement. After hours of Molly Weasley standing firm and alone, up against everyone, on her decision of her son-in-law and daughter-in-law moving in with them, they decided, both the couples would get their own accommodation.

Walking a distance of half a mile from The Burrow, under a brilliantly lit starry sky, the couples got home after snacks and an early dinner. The Potters had built a three storeys high white and red house, equipped with every modern muggle technology. Right across street was the Weasley residence. It owed its state of art stone walls, stretching over two storeys, to Hermione's taste in designing.

Ron tucked himself in. Shutting his eyes, he tried to forget every sour memory from the day earlier today. And braced himself for yet another day at the Ministry of Magics.

XXXX

"Where the hell is my map Russell?" James roared. "You and Albus will be _permanently_ settling in the infirmary if I find it here, _again_!"

James restlessly flung all the sheets off the beds in the dorm.

Getting off the spiral staircase descending from the seventh floor, Albus swiftly pulled the Cloak of Invisibility over himself. The cloak was passed down to him by his father, for adventures just like the one he was having. Sitting in front of him were Harvey and Henry Sage. The gaunt, blonde, Muggle born twins, who were his other roommates, sat snug on the maroon couch by the fire, doing their homework. He got past them, unseen. Standing outside the Gryffindor Common Room, he unfolded the Marauder's Map under the cloak.

"Lumos," he pointed his wand at it "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Leaving the Gryffindor Tower close to midnight, after it was restricted, came to him naturally. Just the way speaking parseltongue did. But probability of ebbing circumstances rose, when Albus's Prefect brother, James, stormed past him in the corridor by the quad. Albus realized that he had undoubtedly latched on to the disappearance of his belongings. Fortunately for Albus, James did not catch the faintest whiff of his presence there in the corridor under the cloak.

The map revealed Neville Longbottom's, his godfather's, footsteps advancing towards the quad from the Defence Against the Dark Arts Tower. A guilty chill ran down Albus' spine. He glued to the uneven, rocky wall, his back against it. He held his breath as Neville walked past him. He watched his godfather walk a healthy distance away from him before he turned in the direction of the DADA Tower and ran to it breathlessly, seizing the opportunity of vacant vicinity. Leaving the tower behind him, he was now again on the bridge. This side of the bridge extended to the Training Grounds Tower. His destination for the night.

Walking up hastily, he found himself at the top of the spiral staircase, ascending to the fourth floor. He was standing in the Library Corridor. To his right was the library. He checked the map for any traces of approaching footsteps. And double checked. He held his wand out of his cloak, for the library was pitch-black. He tranquilly walked past every section holding his wand up against them. Finally, after passing his last stoppage of search, the Reference Section, he got to the Restricted Section.

It was embedded in the most secluded corner of the room. More like being abandoned. It was closed off by a rope, separating it from the rest of the room and sending a clear message of 'no-entry'. After going over the red rope, he thoroughly scanned the titles of the books in that section. Fishing through the books in all the racks of the section, a book in a blue jacket, placed in the bottom shelf drew his attention. His traced the title with his index. It read – The Tale of the Three Brothers.

He impatiently yanked it out. The cover on the upper side had a small sketch of Beedle the Bard in white on the sky blue background. The bottom of the cover which should have had the author's name, 'Beedle the Bard', printed on it, was empty. Cutting through the chase, he flipped through, to the part of the book he was there for. The last chapter. It was titled – Death's Animosity.

The addition of this particular chapter made the copy of the folklore so exclusive that it was veiled from the masses of the wizarding society. Protected by Hogwarts.

Resolving to go through its content intensively later in the comfort of his dormitory, he pulled out a piece of parchment from his trouser and copied the text from the book using a Cribbing Spell, a spell primarily used to assist a student to cheat in exams.


End file.
